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The Point was the dividing line between the grounds and waters of the two tribes, so they agreed to make the name 'Homolsom' from the two languages." I suggested more tea, and, as he sipped it, he told me the legend that few of the younger Indians know.
"Some day, perhaps next summer, I'll take you there in a sail-boat, and show you the big rock at the south-west of the Point. It is a strange rock; we Indian people call it Homolsom." "What an odd name!" I commented. "Is it a Squamish word? it does not sound to me like one." "It is not altogether Squamish, but half Fraser River language.
So, perhaps, I am prejudiced in favor of this legend of Homolsom Rock, for it strikes a very responsive chord in that portion of my heart that has always throbbed for the sea. "You know," began my young tillicum, "that only waters unspoiled by human hands can be of any benefit. One gains no strength by swimming in any waters heated or boiled by fires that men build.
"Some day, perhaps next summer, I'll take you there in a sail-boat, and show you the big rock at the southwest of the Point. It is a strange rock; we Indian people call it Homolsom." "What an odd name," I commented. "Is it a Squamish word? it does not sound to me like one." "It is not altogether Squamish, but half Fraser River language.
My young tillicum had finished his tradition, and his great solemn eyes regarded me half-wistfully. "I wish you could see Homolsom Rock," he said. "For that is he who was once the Tyee of the West Wind." "Were you ever becalmed around Point Grey?" I asked irrelevantly. "Often," he replied.
Their virtues die when human beings try to improve them by heating or distilling, or placing even tea in them, and so what makes Homolsom Rock so full of 'good medicine' is that the waters that wash up about it are straight from the sea, made by the hand of the Great Tyee, and unspoiled by the hand of man.
My young tillicum had finished his tradition, and his great, solemn eyes regarded me half-wistfully. "I wish you could see Homolsom Rock," he said. "For that is he who was once the Tyee of the West Wind." "Were you ever becalmed around Point Grey?" I asked irrelevantly. "Often," he replied.
So, perhaps, I am prejudiced in favor of this legend of Homolsom Rock, for it strikes a very responsive chord in that portion of my heart that has always throbbed for the sea. "You know," began my young tillicum, "that only waters unspoiled by human hands can be of any benefit. One gains no strength by swimming in any waters heated or boiled by fires that men build.
The Point was the dividing-line between the grounds and waters of the two tribes; so they agreed to make the name 'Homolsom' from the two languages." I suggested more tea, and, as he sipped it, he told me the legend that few of the younger Indians know.
Their virtues die when human beings try to improve them by heating or distilling, or placing even tea in them, and so what makes Homolsom Rock so full of 'good medicine' is that the waters that wash up about it are straight from the sea, made by the hand of the Great Tyee, and unspoiled by the hand of man.
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